Loving Again Titanic Crossover
by aenpaesum
Summary: ON HIATUS: It is 1915, and Christian's book Moulin Rouge is being made into a movie. The young actress playing Satine is none other than Rose Dawson herself! I think you can guess where this is going. Please, Please review!
1. The Actress/ The Writer

1915  
  
"Take it from the top!"  
  
Rose Dawson sighed and stepped away from the window of the elephant, resuming her position on the bed. She leaned back gracefully upon the red satin pillows, arranging her black lace garment around her as she crossed her legs seductively. She focused her gaze upon her co-star, Ben, who stood a few feet away from her, dressed in a black tuxedo. Rose listened intently to his words as he began to sing.  
  
"My gift is my song, and this one's for you."  
  
"Cut! Rose! I need to see that you are falling in love with this 'duke.' I need to see it, Rose! Where is it? Where is it? Look at him, he's young, handsome, you think he's royalty. This is the moment, Rose1 As soon as he sings this line you need to go from smoldering temptress, from trying to seduce him, to just a girl madly in love! How many takes until you get it right, Miss Dawson?"  
  
"I'm sorry Sam," muttered the young actress. "I'm trying!"  
  
"Well, try harder! Might I remind you that the studio is spending thousands of dollars on Moulin Rouge, so we must make it superb!" yelled the director. "Ben, again!"  
  
"My gift is my song, and this one's for you. And you can tell everybody, this is your song. It may be quite simple but, now that it's done. I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words. How wonderful life is, now you're in the world . . ."  
  
Rose watched him, staring into his eyes as though he meant the world to her. On the outside, the young actress had mastered the art of pretending to be in love. On the inside, she believed that love was something she'd never feel again. She was keeping her promise to Jack; she was going on with her life. Three years after surviving the Titanic, her film career was blossoming and she was beginning to feel happy again. But love? "No," thought Rose. "I'll never love again."  
  
* * *  
  
"I'll never love again," thought Christian Calvert as he watched the actors. The redheaded girl reminded him so much of Satine; he had instantaneously agreed with Sam that she was the perfect choice to play the role of the doomed courtesan. But looking at her now was almost painful, for the memories of Satine came flooding back to him, reminding him how much he loved her.  
  
During some scenes, Christian had had to flee the set, practically in tears, no longer able to watch this girl. He wished he didn't have to be here day in and day out, but he had made a promise to Satine. He had promised her that he would tell their story, and he had. Moulin Rouge had been published almost fifteen years ago, and had become an instant classic. Now, MGM Films was making Christian's book into a motion picture, and despite the pain it caused him, Christian had insisted on being present at all times during the filming, to make sure that their story turned out the way Satine would've wanted it to.  
  
Although he still remembered that summer of 1899 as though it were yesterday, he felt time passing. He was thirty-five years old now, edging past the prime of his life. In the last sixteen years, he had enjoyed much success as a writer; he was now far from penniless. He had made a number of good friends here in America. He had even had a few short relationships with other women, though he never felt the love for them that he had felt for Satine. Christian had to admit that many things had gone his way since that fateful year. Of course, he would give up the critical acclaim and the money in a second if only he could have Satine back. Yet she was the one thing he could not have.  
  
Christian watched Miss Dawson on the bed. Sometimes when he saw her he actually thought he was seeing Satine alive. This briefly made Christian happy, yet he was always stabbed through the heart when he realized it was just an illusion. This girl, Miss Dawson, was not Satine; she was an actress. Yes, as well as Satine's red hair and blue eyes, this girl also shared her ability to pretend.  
  
* * * 


	2. A Conversation

"Mr. Calvert!"  
  
Rose spotted the young writer crossing the lot and called after him, running to catch him. They had just wrapped up another horridly long day of shooting, and she was exhausted. However, she had been meaning to talk to Mr. Calvert for quite some time, and this was her chance.  
  
"Miss Dawson, why, hello," he said awkwardly as she reached him. Rose noticed how Mr. Calvert always seemed nervous around her, but she didn't know why. In fact, she barely knew anything about this quiet man who sat on the set day after day, occasionally speaking a few words to Sam but other than that, simply watching them. Often, Rose saw him staring intently at her during her scenes. Normally, such attention from a man might make Rose suspicious, but there was something about Mr. Calvert that, well, calmed her.  
  
"Please, call me Rose. Anyways, Mr. Calvert, I was hoping to ask you a few questions," said Rose. "It's just that I'm having a bit of trouble with the role, as I'm sure Sam has made clear to you, and I was thinking that, well, since you wrote Moulin Rouge you might be able to give me a few tips."  
  
"Well, um, eh, okay," stammered Mr. Calvert. "Would you like to go for a cup of tea?"  
  
"That would be lovely," replied Rose. "Even here in California, I always seem to be cold."  
  
* * *  
  
"Now Mr. Calvert, do you think that Camille would be crying in the scene where she tells William that she doesn't love him?" Rose was sitting across from Christian, drinking tea. She had taken a small notebook out of her purse and was writing down notes from their conversation. Christian couldn't help but smile at her professionalism.  
  
"Please, call me Christian. And no, Rose, she wasn't, I mean, she wouldn't be crying. She would be very sad, but not crying. Sa - Camille would be very good at pretending, mind you.'' Christian took a sip of his tea. On one hand, he was finding it easy to answer Rose's questions; all he had to do was close his eyes for a moment to remember every little detail of Satine. Yet on the other hand, a number of times he had almost slipped and revealed the fact that he was the character called William. In Rose's mind, he was simply the writer of this book, and not the protagonist as well. Christian looked across the table at Rose, who was scribbling away furiously, "For all she knows," thought Christian, "'Camille' is just a figment of my imagination, and not the woman whom I still love dearly."  
  
"Okay, then," continued Rose, pulling Christian back into the conversation. "Now, in the scene where Camille first appears, can you describe to me exactly how she would look, how she would act? Sam cannot stop emphasizing that this is the moment when the audience first meets Camille, so she, I mean, I must make a strong impression."  
  
Christian smiled, thinking back to how beautiful Satine had looked that first night, atop that swing. "Rose," he began, "Imagine if you will, the largest, most beautiful, most radiant diamond that you can." He watched as Rose's eyes darted towards the floor, and he saw her smile sadly to herself. "Camille," he continued, "would be that diamond, except that she was, well, um, alive. She was the star of the Moulin Rouge. Now, I suppose that from her point of view, that routine on the swing would just be something that she did each night, a meaningless act that she did for a warm bed and food. But somehow, she would do it so that the men below her believed. She would make it seem real."  
  
"I see," said Rose. "Now, in the book you wrote that Camille was a loud, wonderful singer. But if Camille had consumption, wouldn't that make it hard for her to sing?"  
  
"Oh no," answered Christian, "She wa- would be a beautiful, powerful singer. She would only cough sometimes." Christian felt his heart sear with pain as Satine's face flashed through his mind, gasping for air, trying to breathe. Yet he smiled as he remembered her voice, so clear and forceful.  
  
Christian watched as Rose wrote a few more things down on her notepad, and then finished off her tea. "Well, Mr. Calvert, it's been a pleasure. I cannot thank you enough for this invaluable information. You know, I don't believe I've ever told you just how much I loved Moulin Rouge. It was such a beautiful book, and it's message! Truth, beauty, freedom, and love! I mean, what else is there in the world? I must say, Mr. Calvert, you are very very talented."  
  
Christian blushed. "Why, thank you, Rose," he replied. "I appreciate that. I wrote Moulin Rouge over fifteen years ago, but to me, the message is timeless. Yes, in a way it is a story about a time, a story about a place, a story about the people, but, but none of that really matters, I suppose. What Moulin Rouge is really about is love overcoming all obstacles, love lasting forever." Christian became choked up as spoke the words. "I guess what I'm trying to say is simply that, the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love . . . "  
  
"And be loved in return," joined in Rose. Christian watched as a single tear fell from her crystal blue eye. "Well, Mr. Calvert, I certainly agree with you there. It's just that . . . well, sometimes it hurts so much, you know?"  
  
"I know, Rose," said Christian. And to himself he thought, "My, how I know."  
  
He escorted her out of the café and they said goodbye to one another. Walking home, Christian glanced up at the stars. He smiled. "I love you, Satine" he said, as she had every night for the last sixteen years. "I'm going on. I'm telling our story. I promise." 


	3. Christian's Truth

"Diamonds are a . . . Diamonds are a . . . Diamonds are a girl's . . . best . . . friend."  
  
"Cut! Rose, that was quite good!" declared Sam reluctantly from his director's chair.  
  
"Thank you!" exclaimed Rose triumphantly. The director's praise was hard to come by, and Rose was proud of herself. It seemed that Christian's advice for how she should play the scene had paid off. All Rose had done was think of the Heart of the Ocean - it's hugeness, it's sparkle - and she had an idea of what he was talking about.  
  
"All right, folks," yelled Sam, "I 'spose that'll be it for today, but I want every one hear at seven for the Spectactular Spectacular pitch scene, okay? And Francis?" He turned toward a middle-aged man wearing a fiery red wig and false moustache. "Please remember that Harvey Biddler is a big character, okay? Everything about him is over- the -top. Where is that? Where is that? All right, till tomorrow, then!"  
  
Rose walked off the set and headed towards her dressing room. She was dying to get out of the uncomfortable costume. Her limbs ached from endless can-can dances. She walked along the corridor, exhausted. As she turned the corner she heard a muffled sobbing coming from the far end of the hall. Curious, Rose walked towards the noise. She found the room where the crying was coming from and opened the door slowly.  
  
Christian was sitting in a chair, his face covered in tears. In his right hand he held a photo of some sort. He didn't seem to notice Rose, for he continued crying, but at the same time, he began to sing softly.  
  
"Come what may . . . Come what may . . . Come what may"  
  
Rose listened as Christian began to murmur, "Satine, oh Satine, Satine, oh god how I miss you, my love, oh Satine."  
  
Rose watched from the doorway, her eyes resting upon this obviously miserable man. She wasn't sure if she should try to help him, for he might resent the interference. Yet Christian looked so sad that Rose couldn't help but step into the room.  
  
"Christian?" she asked softly. "Do you mind if I come in?"  
  
"You know what they say, Rose," he stopped crying and laughed sadly. "Misery loves company." He gestured towards an empty chair.  
  
Rose went and sat down besides him. "I'd ask you how you are but I think I'm a bit afraid to hear the answer."  
  
Christian chuckled. "I'll be okay, Rose. It's just . . . oh, nothing."  
  
Rose could sense that he was keeping something from her. "It's okay, Christian, you can tell me. What's the matter?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Rose, but I don't want to burden you with my troubles. A young, innocent thing like yourself doesn't need to hear such dark stories."  
  
Rose laughed bitterly. She was only twenty years old but she had experienced enough darkness to last more than one lifetime. "Oh, Christian, I may look young and innocent but I've been through my fair share of dark stories. Now, please tell me what is the matter!"  
  
"Well," said Christian, "I suppose it all began fifteen years ago, when I arrived in Paris to pursue an existence as a penniless bohemian."  
  
"Just like William!" exclaimed Rose. "He was penniless too, and a writer, like yourself." Then suddenly Rose made the connection, and despite her acting abilities, she couldn't contain her shock. "Oh," she said softly. "Oh, Christian, so, so then . . .?"  
  
Christian nodded. "One and the same, Rose. This means you already know my story."  
  
Rose looked at the floor silently, trying to comprehend what she had just learnt. Christian had lost the love of his life, just as she had. A huge wave of empathy flooded over her as she realized how close their two lives were. Slowly, she looked into Christian's eyes and said, "You must still miss her."  
  
"Every moment," replied Christian. "You would think that after fifteen years it would hurt less, but no." In an odd way, his words brought a sense of relief to Rose, for they made her realize that she truly would never forget Jack, nor would she stop loving him. She always feared that her promise to go on with her life would mean that Jack would be left behind. But hearing Christian speak made her realize just how unfounded her fears were. Jack, of course, would always be a part of her.  
  
Christian had started to cry again. This time his sobs were louder, practically shaking the room. "She died in my arms, Rose. She died in my arms, making me promise, she made me promise."  
  
Rose choked back tears. The memories of deathbeds and promises were vivid in her mind. "Is that her?" she asked, gesturing towards the picture.  
  
"Yes," said Christian as he handed Rose the worn photograph  
  
"Oh, she's beautiful," said Rose, staring at the picture of the woman. "I take it her name wasn't Camille, then?"  
  
"Her name was Satine," said Christian softly. "You can't tell from the black-and-white photo, but she had hair as red as yours, and the same blue eyes, and that ivory skin. You remind me of her, Rose. That's why I told Sam that you would be perfect for this role."  
  
"Thank you," said Rose quietly.  
  
"You'll have to excuse me, Rose," continued Christian, "for laying all my problems on you like this. It's simply that watching you and Ben and Francis and the others play out my life day after day, well, it brings back a lot of memories. Happy ones, yes, but sad ones too. There was a time when I could just wash all my worries away with a nice glass of absinthe but I must admit, that wasn't the best solution. Well, I'd better be going, then. I'll see you tomorrow." He stood up and walked towards the doorway, turning back to her before walking into the hall. "Thank you, Rose, for listening."  
  
Rose sat still in her chair, speechless, her heart racing with emotion. There was something about Christian, something about the way he too had known loss, that made her feel a way she hadn't felt since Jack had died. More than anything, Rose just wanted to help him. Oh, she knew that she was far from healed, but that didn't mean that she couldn't help make things better for him.  
  
Rose returned to her dressing room and changed out of the costume. She quickly donned her own dress, gathered her things, and walked out into the night. Glancing up at the stars, she smiled. "I love you, Jack" she said, as she had every night for the last three years. "I'm making it count. I won't let go, I promise." She was about to head home when she looked up once more. "Satine," she said, "It's okay. I am going to help Christian for you." 


End file.
